Not Quite So Alone
by MiaMeadows
Summary: After moving in with Sherlock and John, Mary's ideas of a fairytale romance are short-lived. Stuck between the most attractive man in the world and the cutest thing on the planet, how could things possibly work out? Especially when they seem more interested in each other than they are in her.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes he belongs to Sir Srthur Conan Doyle, I also don't own Sherlock he belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Word.**

Mary Morstan was visiting The Beatles merchandise store in Baker Street, London. It was therefore not a huge coincidence that she walked past the window of 221b and saw a sign saying: "live-in maid needed, room to let, inquire within."

So she did.

In the living room were two men and a lady. The latter was voicing her opinions on the storage of body parts in her teacups. One of the men (the shorter, cuter and knitted-jumper-wearing one) took out a notebook and pencil.

Just so you know, Mary was short, blonde and pretty, but pretty in a naïve kind of way, she was 23 but looked 16.

"John Watson, pleased to meet you, that's Sherlock Holmes, he's pleased too." Sherlock smiled, though it was quite possibly the least genuine smile she had ever seen. He was far taller and leaner than John and had a perfectly formed face, and when I say perfect I mean perfect, like without-a-fault perfect, like James Dean perfect, anyway...

"So what's the case?" said John.

"Sorry?" said Mary.

"The case, isn't that…"

"Oh do shut up John, she's not here with a case, she's here to let the room," said Sherlock.

"The room? What room?"

"Three days ago Mrs. Hudson said she was thinking of getting a live-in maid to let the downstairs bedroom. Mary, was it? Has obviously just moved here from Australia, she doesn't want to stay with her family for any longer than she has to, she's going to be working at Camden School for Girls, teaching English, and she needs a place with low rent, hence she's here about the room. Mrs. Hudson, tea!"

"How could you possibly…" said Mary.

"The fact that you are wearing a coat on hat can only be described as a warm summer's day summers in England and you accent makes you obviously Australian, though its subtlety and your complexion tells me that you are partially British, probably one of your parents, therefore you probably have family in England who you have no doubt been staying with, you only arrived a couple of days ago but you're already looking for somewhere else to stay, so you can't like them all that much, you visited Camden School for Girls school this morning, there's a map of the grounds in your bag, so you're probably going to teach there since you're obviously too old to attend, there's also a copy of Macbeth in your bag, so you're probably an English teacher, you've taken the hem of your jeans up yourself and your coat is one size too big for you, therefore you probably buy your clothes second hand, why else would you buy clothes that don't fit you? So you haven't got much money to afford a flat of your own so you need somewhere cheaper, a live-in maid. Was I wrong?"

"That was incredible."

"You might want to take a couple of days to think about it" John said as he led Mary to the front door. But she had made up her mind already.

The next day she found herself in the same living room with a stack of papers to fill out and a detailed account from Sherlock of which bus route she took to get there and what she had eaten for breakfast.

"I'm starving Sherlock," said the ever polite and lovely John, "Mary would you like to come to dinner with us and we can get to know each other?"

'Us' thought Mary, 'oh no, not again.'

'Dull' thought Sherlock.

"I'd love too" said Mary taking her oversized coat in one hand and her book-carrying bag in the other and following her new roommates out the door of 221b Baker Street.

"So, what do you do then?" Asked Mary when they had sat down for dinner.

"Consulting detective" said Sherlock without taking his eyes off the window.

"A what…"

"When the police are out of their depth…" filled in John.

"Which is alw…"

"They come to us" finished John.

'Us…there was that word again,' she thought.

"What about you," asked John, "Why did you decide to move to London?"

"Well I…" Mary began; prepared to launch into the speech she had given to everyone she'd met so far in England.

"Boring, where are the menus?" Sherlock cut in again.

"Did you leave any broken hearts behind you in Australia then?" Asked John, apparently not phased by the constant interruptions.

"No, she's been single for at least a year," said Sherlock, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"How could you possibly…" started Mary again.

"You've been planning this trip for a while; obviously you wouldn't want a boyfriend to tie you down to Australia. Also we looked at your Facebook page last night"

"That's funny; I could have sworn I set it to private"

"You did. Ah menus"

And so it was that Mary Morstan moved into 221b Baker Street, into the room that had "just had the rising damp fixed" according to Mrs. Hudson, and where she began the nigh impossible task of cleaning the house.

"Just do what you can," Mrs. Hudson had said "anything is better than nothing."

John was unfailingly sweet and welcoming and Sherlock lost some of his icy tendencies when Mary started bringing him breakfast in bed and cooking dinner every night. John was exceedingly pleased to find food in the fridge rather than just "experiments" and Mrs. Hudson felt a little tingle of joy every time she heard the vacuum going or saw the washing had been done.

Fairly soon packages from Australia started arriving on the doorstep full of books and DVDs and John kindly offered to put up shelves in Mary's bedroom for their storage.

She didn't stand a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take long for Mary to fall head-over-heels in love.

How could she not fall in love with John, the sweetest, kindest, most adorable room-mate a girl could ask for? A man who could make her heart turn into an Olympic gymnast from merely the sight of his knitted jumpers.

How could she not fall in love with Sherlock, the most intelligent, devastatingly handsome, consulting detective with a voice like melted chocolate and honey who can play the violin?

Well, I'll leave it to you to deduce which man had ensnared her affections. Needless to say Mary rarely left the flat with anyone but Sherlock and John, because what could possibly be better than spending a night in Baker Street with Sherlock and John? Nothing, obviously.

So, most nights she would sit up and talk to John, he was the most wonderful listener, sometimes they would stay up till two or three in the morning before they would realise that they both had work in the morning. Sherlock on the other hand seemed to have the ability to make Mary forget every single word in her vocabulary. She humiliated herself daily by stammering and muttering to him. In fact once, when John had pointed out that Sherlock was once again in the paper, she had said "You're pretty much Zac Efron". Yes, it really was that bad.

So, one Saturday, Sherlock was solving a case where all he had to go on was a piece of masking tape and a pair of cufflinks. It was child's play of course. John had been sent to investigate the cufflink manufacturer and Sherlock had suddenly decided to follow someone who he had spotted out their window.

"You there, umm…"

"Mary?"

"Right, are you doing anything right now?"

"Well I have to grade year nine's…"

"Perfect, I need you to come out with me."

"Sure."

What you need to understand here is that it is practically impossible to say no to Sherlock Holmes, especially when he looks at you with those beautiful eyes of his. So, he could have asked Mary to do pretty much anything and she would have done it. But, we'll come to that later.

So they left 221b and stared to follow the suspicious character, Mary was suffering once again from a lack of words, it was quite ridiculous that an English teacher of all people couldn't manage to keep up a conversation. But, fortunately, Sherlock, with the hopes of seeming uninterested in his suspect broke the silence.

"So, how was school yesterday?" he said, which significantly flummoxed Mary.

"I umm, I, well I started my unit on Midsummer Night's Dream with year seven."

"Fascinating," it didn't sound totally sarcastic, "and how are you finding life in London?"

"Brilliant, really brilliant, I can't tell you how much I love living with you guys."

'Was that too much?' she thought.

"Damn I think he's noticed us, quick take my hand"

So she did. She thought she might spontaneously combust. She was holding hands with Sherlock Holmes. She felt suddenly rather foolish, but also ecstatic.

They kept waking, with the fact that her hand was in Sherlock's Mary was unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words.

"So, have you made any new friends since you've been in London?"

"Well, apart from John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg and you..."

"Me?"

"Well of course you, John said you had trouble with the f-word…"

"The f…"

"Friend! I mean, not…anyway" Mary went decidedly pink and hoped Sherlock would find something else to talk about.

"Oh no, he's looking at us again, quick."

Suddenly Sherlock had turned to face her and before she knew it he was kissing her. For a whole three seconds Mary was the happiest person on the planet, and that is a certified fact, but then she saw John, he was standing only a few meters away and he looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach, and at the sight of his pain-stricken face Mary's heart broke. Then, as quickly as it had started it was over, and Sherlock had broken away.

"Quick Mary, we're loosing him!" and he walked away from her, when she looked back John was gone, and she tried to tell herself that he wasn't sitting in that phone booth.


	3. Chapter 3

John didn't return until eleven that night, he had missed dinner and Sherlock's rendition of Rosas' 'Over the Waves'. Sherlock was already in bed, he appeared to have forgotten all about the day's escapades, though Mary couldn't seem to think about anything else. She had sat up feeling like a mother waiting for her son to come home from a party. When John finally did stumble up the stairs, he seemed to have been drinking.

"John?"

He didn't respond, he was trying to take off his shoes which seemed to be occupying all of his capacities.

"Are you ok?"

He stared up at her, apparently noticing she was there for the first time. His face had lost that painful look which she had seen only hours ago, he now only looked tired and annoyed.

"I'm fantastic" he said, and managed to pull off one of his shoes which he promptly threw across the room. It collided, quite expertly, with Sherlock's latest experiment that was ruminating on the kitchen table.

He gave up on the other shoe and decided instead to start singing. Mary felt that he was in no state to talk so tried to get him into bed.

As she pushed him towards his bedroom he took it as an invitation to dance and tried to make her waltz with him. He then proceeded to trip over his shoelace which he subsequently thought was the funniest thing in the world. Needless to say it took a good half hour to get him under the covers. Once there his mood changed almost instantly.

"Stay, won't you?"

Mary turned, she was already half out the door but John looked like a helpless kitten there in his pajamas with that tired, cuddly look in his eyes.

Mary was stuck, after her emotional rollercoaster of a day she didn't think she could bear a late night, drunken conversation with her roommate, but how could she leave him like that?

"You need sleep." She said, hoping it was a safe diplomatic answer that she wouldn't regret immediately.

"Mary," he whined, "please stay."

Good lord he was adorable, how could anyone ever be so adorable. It was like he spent most of his time studying baby pandas.

She sat on the edge of his bed; her heart was beating so fast she thought it ran the risk of jumping right out of her chest.

He reached for her hand, but she pulled back, this was all wrong, how often had she dreamt of this moment? But she couldn't do it, especially after what had happened this morning.

"John, I can't" she said and stood up, tucking him in. 'Could I behave any more like a mother if I tried?' she thought.

She told herself not to look at his lovable face as she kissed his forehead and left the room.

When she finally got into her own bed there was a message on her phone.

_What on earth is going on out there? SH_

The next morning Sherlock didn't emerge until ten, and John not till twelve. Mary of course was up at seven with a load of washing on, pancakes made and a stack of essays marked. She and Mrs. Hudson ate all the pancakes themselves out of spite when the boys didn't emerge from their chambers.

She took in a cup of coffee to John at noon and he looked like one of Sherlock's experiments. He didn't mention the night before, and Mary was ready to forget the whole thing but that night when Sherlock had disappeared on some mystery errand and they sat down for their usual evening talk he broached the subject.

"Listen Mary, about last night, if I overstepped..."

"No, don't worry about it"

"But..."

"Really John, it's fine, I've already forgotten about it."

She couldn't think of anything she would like to talk about less, except perhaps the kiss with Sherlock, but everyone seemed to be overlooking that.

John looked embarrassed so she tried to change the subject.

"So, did you get anything from the cufflink guy?"

It was clearly not the best thing to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Six weeks later Mary was talking to her year eight's about the importance of differentiating between "your" and "you're" when there was a knock at the door.

"There's a phone call for you from a policeman."

'Greg?' thought Mary as she entered the staffroom and picked up the phone.

"Hello? Is that you Greg?"

"Yes, listen Mary I have some bad news...it's Sherlock..."

His voice had broken, it had actually broken, Greg Lestrade, who never showed any affection towards Sherlock Holmes had choked on his name. This was serious; Mary tried not to think about why it might be serious.

"Sherlock...he...he's dead...he jumped off..."

But Mary never heard the end of Lestrade's sentence because she had dropped the phone and was suddenly on the floor. She wasn't sure how she had got there, but didn't think she would be able to move anytime soon.

The other teachers in the staff room flocked to her side, they tried to talk to her, tried to make her sit on a chair, but all Mary kept saying was, "no one is with my class."

She didn't notice that she was crying, she didn't notice that there were a crowd of confused students at the door staring at her. All she could think was, 'I have to find John'. She tried to dial his number in her phone but her hands were shaking so much she couldn't even unlock it. Someone, she wasn't sure who, dialed the number for her and she managed to hold the phone to her ear.

"Mary?"

"John?"

"St Bartholomew's"

He hung up.

Ten minutes later Mary was in a black cab, when they pulled up to the hospital there were police cars and ambulances everywhere; she tumbled out of the cab without thinking of the fact that she had to pay, stumbled towards the nearest ambulance, was that Lestrade crouched on the ground? She didn't have time to think about him. Suddenly, she saw, sitting in the back of an ambulance, for a split second she thought it was Sherlock, but then she realised, it was only his coat which had engulfed a small crumpled figure. She didn't say anything she just hugged him, she wasn't sure if she was shaking or he was but it felt like it was minus fifty degrees. She wasn't sure if she was weeping or he was, but all she could hear were gasps and sobs.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed there like that, she could vaguely remember someone covering them in blankets, and possibly being hugged by someone else, was it Lestrade? She didn't remember how they got back to Baker Street, it seemed like weeks had passed in that ambulance. She did remember the sight of Mrs. Hudson when she came to the door and how that, more than anything, caused her break down again. She remembered trying to make tea for everyone but forgetting to boil the water so they drank it cold. She remembered that the three of them spent the night in Sherlock's bed, she was unsure if any of them had slept. She remembered throwing out newspapers before John or Mrs. Hudson had a chance to see them for weeks after it happened.

She remembered asking John if he wanted her to wash the blood out of the coat and how he had looked as her as if she had just asked whether he would mind terribly if she shot him in the face.

The funeral was worse than anything she could have imagined. Mycroft made a speech, as unemotional as ever, and John stood up at the end accusing him of being the cause of Sherlock's death. Mary had to take him outside and missed the rest of the service while trying to sooth John through her own tears. All John could say was "It's his fault."

Poor Mrs. Hudson was left inside with Molly and Lestrade, the former was filling handkerchiefs by the dozen and the latter seemed to be fascinated by the pattern of the carpet.

After a few days Mary returned to school, she felt more than guilty about it, but she couldn't stay in that house of grief, she had to try and spend some time without tears in her eyes. John hardly spoke and Mrs. Hudson had taken to coming in at random moments with something she had just found "of Sherlock's".

John went back to work soon after that and life was excruciatingly quiet. Mrs. Hudson never even thought for a second of renting Sherlock's room again.

Months passed and sometimes they would even catch each other laughing, more often, though, they would catch each other crying.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't until exactly five months, two weeks and four days later that something happened to change everything. John brought a woman home. Stacey. She was semi-pretty, thought Mary begrudgingly, but her face had the oddest habit of reverting back to a scowl when it didn't know what else to do.

"John what are you doing?" hissed Mary as she pulled him aside that night. (Stacey was busy telling Mrs. Hudson about the perks of being a cashier.)

"Moving on Mary, you should do the same thing."

"What?"

"I know you loved him."

"I did love him John, but I loved you too, I still love you. And you have to know something...that day when you saw us together, that wasn't anything, he was just trying to fool someone into thinking we weren't following him."

John looked up, she knew that face all too well.

"So you're saying, there was never anything between you and Sherlock?"

"That's what I'm saying."

John's reaction was hardly what she had been expecting, he left. And by left I mean he practically sprinted out the front door, despite the fact that his limp had mysteriously reappeared since Sherlock's death.

John didn't speak to Mary for three days but something good came out of their argument; Stacey never returned to Baker Street.

It was a Friday when Mary came home to find a bunch of flowers waiting for her. The card said: "I'm sorry, dinner?"

So she changed into a pretty dress and met John at the bottom of the stairs.

"You look beautiful." He said, though she wasn't sure if he had actually looked at her.

The dinner conversation was placid. They talked about work and family and their nightmares. John was describing a dream where he was on the rooftop with Sherlock trying to talk him out of jumping when he stopped mid sentence and stared out the window.

Mary followed his gaze and saw that he was watching a passing cab.

"What is it?" She asked, but John was silent. "John, what did you...?"

"Nothing." John resumed his dinner, but he had completely forgotten what they were talking about before that.

Two days later Mary was walking home from the bus stop when she bumped into an elderly man causing him to drop the books he had been carrying all over the pavement. While she helped to pick them up she found herself staring into his piercing blue eyes and felt suddenly as if she couldn't speak, which was strange seeing as there was only one person who had that effect on her and he was... but she could have sworn she recognised those eyes and that slim physique.

A second later he was gone without a word.

When she got home John was making tea.

"John?" She said as she walked in the room, "I could have sworn I just saw..."

But she didn't get to finish her sentence because John had dropped his teacup. "Who Mary? Just saw who?"

She didn't answer; it was too impossible. Instead she asked, "The other day, in the restaurant, when you looked at the cab, what did you see?"

They stared at each other; both not wanting to be the first to admit the flicker of something, that seemed a lot like hope, which had formed in both of their hearts.

"Was it Sherlock?" Mary was the first to say his name and John felt that he had to sit down very quickly.

"I couldn't have been, it's impossible." He said.

"Is it? Who other than you saw him fall, who other than you saw him on the ground?"

"Heaps of people!"

"But are you sure it was him who jumped?"

"Of course I'm sure! I saw him; I was there! We're just getting worked up over nothing. Who we saw was probably just someone who looked like Sherlock, maybe..."

"So you did see him!"

"This is ridiculous and it's impossible." John said shaking his head. Mary sat down. She knew John was right; there was no mistake. Sherlock was dead

"Impossible." He whispered, "Once you elliminate the impossible, whatever's left, however improbable must be the truth."

"What?"

"Think about it, London is a huge city, with thousands of people, what are the chances that we both see a guy who looks a lot like Sherlock only a couple of days apart in completely different places?"

"But you said yourself, you saw him jump, you saw him hit the ground."

"No I didn't"

"What? But you just said..."

"I saw him fall; I didn't see him hit the ground."

"How can you not have seen him hit the ground?!"

"Well, there was a wall in the way, and then I got hit by a bicycle."

"A bicycle? I don't remember a bicycle."

"He didn't stop, he just kept going."

"Wait a minute, a guy sees someone jump off a building and then hits someone else with his bike and he doesn't stop to see if either is ok?"

"But that still doesn't explain how he could have survived that fall."

"But this changes everything, if you didn't see him hit the ground he could have hit anything. He could have landed on a mattress or a trampoline or a..."

"It doesn't change anything, he was still dead on the ground, he still went to the Morgue, he was still identified."

"By who, did you identify him, did Mrs. Hudson, because I didn't."

"It must have been Molly...but he was dead I saw him dead."

"You were concussed!"

"Not that concussed, I saw his face…I took his pulse."

"Could it have been a mask?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course it wasn't a mask...It can't have been a mask."

"Well what if..."

"Wait, that last case Sherlock solved, the one with the two kids who had been kidnapped."

"I remember".

"And the first instant the girl saw him she started to scream. Why would she do that?"

"Shock?"

"But she didn't scream when she saw anyone else, they said maybe Sherlock reminded her of the kidnapper, but Sherlock never said what he thought."

"What are you saying? That the kidnapper wore a Sherlock mask?"

"Well, you have to remember that the kidnapper was Moriarty, I'm sure he could have got himself a realistic Sherlock mask, and he was there on the roof when Sherlock jumped."

"But why would he bring the mask with him to the roof? That makes even less sense."

"Well maybe he didn't, maybe that was just what gave Sherlock the idea."

"Ok, so Sherlock landed on a mattress or something, and then somehow puts this body on the ground with his face on it. How did no one notice once he got inside?"

"But there was no mattress; there was nothing on the pavement he could have landed on."

"Well maybe he didn't land on the pavement at all, maybe he landed in a truck full of mattresses, but we still can't explain how he ended up in a coffin with no one noticing it wasn't him"

"Wait, I watched Sherlock fall, I saw him the whole time, and he was moving, so it was definitely him, but he was facing forwards, and on the ground he was sideways."

"Oh my god."

"But how did he..."

"Molly."

"Molly?"

"Molly was in on it, why else did she identify the body and not one of us or Mycroft? She fabricated the files; she told everyone it was Sherlock."

"Wait a minute, so what we're saying here is, Sherlock is alive."

"He's alive."

"Then where the hell has he been all this time?! Why hasn't he come to see us?! Why has he left us suffer all this time!?"

"I don't know John, but I do know that this doesn't add up and I think we should talk to Molly."

"No, this is stupid; we just want it to be true so we're making things up."

"John."

"Don't, just stop it, let it go." John got up and went into his bedroom.

Mary didn't know what to do, could she call Molly, demand to know the truth, could she run back down the street and try to find the Sherlock look-alike, could she persuade John to keep looking into it, and all this with a stack of essays to mark?

She did the only thing a girl could do. She grabbed her oversized coat and her mobile phone and walked out the front door.

She ran head-on into a tall figure.


	6. Chapter 6

"I've been listening to your conversation, I thought I would wait until you worked it out for yourselves, but then I realised, I'd be waiting all night."

"Sherlock?"

"Hello."

He hugged her, and it was a genuine hug, a genuine I've-missed-you-so-much-and-I'm-sorry-I-broke-your-heart-but-I-don't-know-how-to-tell-you-hug.

"Where's John?"

"He's, umm, he's..."

Mary, unfortunately had fallen into her old habit of not being able to form words when in Sherlock's presence and merely pointed up the stairs.

Sherlock wasted no time in resuming his old position, lying prostrate on the couch. Mary felt as if she were in a dream. She had dreamt so often that Sherlock had returned that she couldn't process whether this was really and truly happening. So, she feebly knocked on John's bedroom door.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore Mary" was his response.

"John, you better come out here." What had happened to her voice? Was she crying? She didn't even know.

"What is it?" John opened the door, but the sight Mary's face changed his mood instantly. Mary merely pointed a shaking finger at the living room.

John took one look at Sherlock and promptly fainted. That's right, John Watson, the war doctor, fainted.

He was only out for a couple of seconds during which time Mary really did start crying, it was the only way her body could cope with the plethora of emotions it was experiencing.

John sat up with Mary's hand on his forehead, he merely stared at Sherlock, who for the first time ever seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I had no idea..." he began

"Where the hell have you been?" said John, rising to his feet.

"Well I..."

"Scrap that, how the hell did you survive that fall?"

"Oh that, well..."

"No scrap that too, why the hell didn't you tell us you were alive!? Why didn't you tell your best friend that you were alive?! Have you any idea what you have put us through?!"

"I am sorry John, but it couldn't be avoided."

"You're sorry, you're sorry!" Mary thought for a moment that John might punch him, so she decided to change the subject.

"Would anyone like some tea, or something to eat?" She was still kneeling on the floor and was unsure if she would be able to stand up.

"That would be marvelous; I didn't think I could stand another home cooked meal at Molly's."

"Molly," said John, "You've been staying at Molly's?"

"Well I had to stay somewhere John."

"But why did you do it?"

"Jump? Well you see there was a sniper pointed at your head. Then I took the opportunity of the world thinking I was dead to tie up some loose ends."

"Tie up loose ends?"

"Well Moriarty wasn't the only one who wanted me dead, so I disappeared for a while."

"But why didn't you tell us?"

"Well evidently you don't understand the meaning of the word disappear."

"No you don't understand!"

Before the argument could build any further they heard the front door open.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson, fantastic," Said Sherlock.

'Good lord,' thought Mary, 'she's going to have a heart attack.'

Mary ran down the stairs before Sherlock or John could move from their chairs.

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello dear, I've just been to..."

"I'm afraid I have a bit of a shock for you, you see, well, you know how Sherlock died? Well he didn't."

"What?"

"He's upstairs on the sofa and he's definitely not dead."

Mrs. Hudson dropped her groceries bag and practically bounded up the stairs. She didn't have a chance to faint because Sherlock had picked her up in another of his, very rare, genuine hugs.

Once they were all seated around the living room, each with a cup of tea in their hands and each staring intently at Sherlock's face, except Sherlock of course, though it was quite likely that he was staring in the mirror, he started to tell his story.

"I knew that Moriarty wanted me to kill myself, to complete his plan, so I put a few precautionary measures in place to ensure my safety. Of course you couldn't see John because I made you stand in that particular spot but there was indeed a truck parked in precisely the right place to allow for me to make a safe landing. I made sure that you wouldn't notice by having someone hit you with their bike. Then all I had to do was roll off the truck onto the ground and wait for Molly to find me in the morgue. She of course was in on the whole thing"

"But I took your pulse."

"Hardly, I had a few people around on the ground to make sure you didn't get too close."

"So a guy on a bike and a bunch of people on the street new you were alive but we didn't."

"No, of course not, they were just told to make sure you didn't get too close to me, the only person who knew was Molly, and Mycroft of course."

"Mycroft knew?!"

"Well, I couldn't let my own brother think I was dead."

"You could have told us Sherlock."

"I thought of it more than once, I even started to text you a couple of times, but I feared your affectionate regard for me would lead you to an indiscretion which would betray my secret."

"My affectionate what?!"

"Look I'd love to sit and talk about this all day but I have one or two things to do, so what happened to my dummy Mrs. Hudson?"

"It's under your bed I think."

"Perfect, come John, we have work to do."

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me? We have work to do, hop to it!"

"You can't show up after six months and just expect everything to go back to normal Sherlock."

"I thought we had been through this, but look, someone is going to try and kill me tonight so we need to get that dummy sitting at the window in my coat and that ridiculous deerstalker and head to the flat across the road, obviously."

"Kill you? But everyone thinks you're dead!"

"Well, that's not quite so, a few days ago I had the misfortune of happening upon one of Moriarty's confederates whose sole purpose ever since has been my destruction. So, shall we?"

John stood up and put on his coat, "Lead the way then."

"Brilliant, don't wait up ladies and Mary get that dummy in position will you? Oh and John, bring your gun"


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock spent no time getting his disguise back in place and the pair headed out the back door and into the derelict apartments across the road.

Mary felt more than a little left out, and she wondered what wondrous adventures her two room mates were having. However, since Mary couldn't see them, we will have to go across the road and watch what Sherlock and Watson got up to ourselves.

"Work is the best antidote to sorrow John." said Sherlock as they tip toed up the creaking staircase, the room was almost pitch black and John refused to let Sherlock take his hand in an attempt to lead him through the darkness.

"Not this time," he said, not wanting a recap of their handcuffed escapades. However, after bumping his nose on a door frame he consented. Sherlock had certainly lost weight, if that were even possible, John thought but he didn't admit to thinking that it was strangely comforting to be holding hands with him, as if that physical contact proved that he was truly alive and there beside him once again.

They entered an empty room in which the only light was coming through the window, from which they could see Mary. She was just adding the finishing touches to Sherlock's dummy, which, from behind, held a striking resemblance to the recently revived detective. The pair separated and John felt suddenly as if Sherlock had disappeared, but his familiar hand was quickly on his back pushing him into the corner, where they sat, completely concealed in the shadows. Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder with his lips close to his ear, "now we wait."

But John was so full of questions he felt he might explode, so he whispered back.

"When you said there was a sniper pointed at my head?"

"Not just yours, Mrs. Hudson's and Mary's and Lestrade's too."

"So, what your saying is, you jumped to save our lives?"

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Wait a minute, you, Sherlock Holmes, you jumped off a building to save my life?"

"Well, not just yours, like I said Mary and Lestrade...besides, I survived didn't I?"

"But you might not have?"

"But I did."

The conversation stopped when they saw the dummy move slightly.

"That Mary, she doesn't miss a trick." said John and Sherlock raised his eyebrows, though of course John didn't see that because it was pitch dark.

"So what have you two been up to while I was away?"

"Apart from mourning your death? Not much."

Sherlock didn't respond, instead he pulled John further back into the corner and placed a warning finger upon his lips.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

Sherlock placed a hand on John's wrist, his fingers were curiously trembling. John placed a hand on his gun, his hands were, as always, perfectly still.

A man entered the room and crossed to the window, he wasted no time in crouching with his rifle in hand.

The shot made Sherlock jump, but John was on his feet in an instant and had pounced upon the man's back and he promptly fell to the floor. Seconds later Lestrade had appeared at the top of the stairs with several other policemen in toe.

"You better have a good explanation for this Sherlock."

"Good to see you too Lestrade."

Mary spent this time researching postmodern picture books and wondering where feminism had gone wrong.

When they finally did return they were laughing like children about something Anderson had said. Sherlock shut himself in his room with his violin which he had "missed more than anything" (though Mary hardly thought that was true), and John made as though he was going to retire as well, but Mary grabbed his arm and sat him on the couch. Finally, she thought, asserting her authority in this house.

"We need to talk."


	8. Chapter 8

John looked slightly befuddled, but it had been such a hectic day that he felt he was prepared for anything. Well, almost anything.

Mary sat beside him.

"John" said she, "you need to tell him."

"Tell who what exactly?"

"You need to tell Sherlock that you love him."

That was certainly not was he was expecting, "Oh god, not you too, how many times do I have to tell you people that I am not gay!"

"I didn't say you were." she said but she thought 'methinks thou does protest too much'.

"Then what precisely are you saying?"

"Look, before you explode will you just listen to what I have to say, then you can yell at me all you like."

"Fine."

"Ok, so the first time I ever met you two I thought you were both gay for the simple fact that I was instantly attracted to both of you."

"What?"

"See, what you need to understand about me is, every guy I have ever been in love with has turned out to be gay, therefore when I came into this house and Sherlock was ridiculously attractive and so intelligent and you were the most adorable thing on the planet and you described yourselves as 'us', well, I merely assumed I had fallen into my old trap again."

"But," she went on, not phased my John's stunned expression, "the more time I spent with you the more I realised that 'gay' and 'straight' are just labels and really what everything boils down to is 'love'. And I'm not saying love in a physical way or even in a romantic way, but I think that you are fooling yourself if you think you don't love Sherlock, and even more so if you think he doesn't love you too."

Mary took a deep breath after her rant that had left John looking rather pale. He took a long time to reply.

"You think he loves me?"

"Are you kidding me? Do you even live in this house John? Haven't you noticed that you guys can't keep your eyes off each other? You obviously depend on each other and can't survive without each other, I mean, didn't you see Sherlock today? How haggard and drained he looked? And I don't need to tell you that you haven't exactly been coping with him being gone all that well either. And I didn't want to mention this but the amount of sexual tension in this house is stifling!"

John didn't move, and Mary was unsure if he had even been listening to her.

"Listen John, all I'm saying here is you should talk to him, tell him how much you missed him, how much he means to you and well, that you love him. Because think about it, when do you think was the last time someone told Sherlock that they loved him? If ever?"

"Do you really think he loves me?"

"I don't know John, but I know that he can't live without you and that you make him happy and that the first thing he did when he walked in that door today was ask where you were."

John had gone silent again; he seemed frightfully interested in the upholstery of the sofa.

"And if you don't, then I will, and you never know what might happen when I do. It's up to you."

Mary got up; she had only gone three paces when John spoke.

"Don't."


	9. Chapter 9

Mary froze.

"What was that?"

"Don't, don't tell him."

"Does that mean that you..."

"Look I'll talk to him okay."

"Right now."

"Right now?"

"Unless you want me to get there first."

"Okay okay, right now."

He stood up and Mary crossed the distance between them in a single bound and hugged him.

"Good luck." she said, and John rolled his eyes.

Mary pretended to go to her own room but secretly she was perched on the top stair listening to every word.

John knocked on Sherlock's door. Surprisingly he opened it himself. He had changed. Jesus, it was his purple shirt. God help us all.

"Yes?"

"Sherlock." John's voice had done that funny squeaky thing, how interesting.

"Sherlock" he said again, clearing his throat, "could we talk for a minute?"

"Is it important? I'm restringing my violin."

"Well it's just, I mean, I just wanted to say that, I am umm, I'm really glad, you know, that you're alive and everything, and well, that I guess, I've really missed you."

There, he'd said it, even Mary would be proud of that.

Sherlock's next move was completely and utterly unexpected. He hugged him.

Mary started to squeal with joy but stifled it quickly. John stiffened, never, in the whole time he'd known him, had Sherlock showed him any sign of physical affection, but there, in his bedroom doorway, he was hugging him. So, he hugged him back, what else could he do?

In a matter of seconds it was over, and Sherlock had shut himself back in his bedroom, where the sound of his violin was emanating.

John stood there for several seconds, unsure of what to do. Mary approached him.

"There, see, I told him, and nothing happened."

"Nothing?! You call that nothing?!"

"Yes I call that nothing, he doesn't value me any higher that you or Mrs Hudson."

"John how can you be so blind?! Get him back out here! Tell him you love him!"

"Will you keep your voice down?!"

"If his death wont make you come to terms with your feelings what will!?"

"Oh my god Mary, you sound like you're in a Romance novel."

"Okay John, answer me this. That day when you saw Sherlock and me together, were you upset because it was me or because it was Sherlock?"

She had silenced him. That was a good sign.

"The fact that you even have to think about..."

"Okay okay, you're right. I was upset because before that day I thought Sherlock couldn't love, but then I realised he just couldn't love me."

"But he didn't love me John; I've already explained this to you."

"Exactly, so I'm back where I started, Sherlock doesn't love, he doesn't feel that emotion, it would conflict with his massive intellect."

"Now don't be ridiculous, Sherlock..."

"Me be ridiculous? I think you have taken the cake on that subject. You're currently trying to get the two guys you're in love with to get together, does that not strike you as a little strange?"

"Don't tease me about my hobbies; I don't tease you for being in denial about your sexuality."

They had to laugh. So much so that Sherlock came back out of his room.

"What on earth are you two doing out here?"

"We're just talking about how much we love you," Mary said, and she starting laughing again.

"I can't really see how that is amusing."

"Well, seeing as how you're married to your work and all that." said John, trying to salvage the situation which he felt had gotten completely out of his control.

"And you know, the whole high functioning sociopath thing," said Mary who was somewhat over-tired and emotionally worn-out after the day's events and may or may not have had a couple of drinks while waiting for the boys to come home.

"Well I'm glad that you two think so lowly of the man who jumped off a building to save your lives."

"But you survived." said John.

"But I might not have."

"But you did."

"Well, I may have survived the fall but I haven't had a particularly great time of it since then you know."

"But you were at Molly's."

"She hardly compares John."

"Hardly compares to what?" said Mary, accidently intruding on the conversation, but covering her mouth immediately afterwards, "sorry, carry on".

"Compares to what?" Said John.

"To you of course."

"Me?"

"You are an invaluable companion; I've told you this before."

"But you only meant on cases, not in general."

"Didn't I? Oh, my mistake."

"You mean, you missed me too?"

"Well, I suppose you could put it that way, but it was more of a case of..."

"You missed me."

"Fine, I missed you okay? I missed you making tea at all hours of the day, I missed your crumby knitted jumpers, I missed the way you act as my Conscience, I missed you complaining about me never buying groceries, I even missed the smell of your aftershave which I didn't even realise I noticed until you weren't there."

John and Mary's jaws dropped. Sherlock looked a little annoyed at himself.

"I umm, I had no idea you felt that way," said John.

"Well, now you do, so if you don't mind I really am in the middle of something."

He shut his door again, and Mary, beaming, was about to congratulate John on a good night's work. But to her utter amazement he looked as though he might burst into tears.

"John?"

"He missed me."

"Yes, he missed you."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It means we're making headway."

"You really are insane, you know that don't you?"

"I don't think anyone who falls in love with Sherlock is totally sane."

John shook his head, "You can say that again."


	10. Chapter 10

The next day Mary was the first to rise, obviously, and after putting on a load of washing and making waffles (it was a special day) she ventured into John's bedroom.

He was sitting up in bed and looked as though he had experienced a blissful night's slumber (sarcasm intended).

"Good morning!"

"Morning." He sounded like a broken coffee machine.

"I'm making waffles, you should get up."

"No thank you, I think I would rather just stay here and die."

"There's melted chocolate."

"Fine."

Sherlock was far easier to persuade. It seemed breakfast at Molly's was almost always porridge.

Breakfast was very intense that day. John kept looking awkwardly at Sherlock and blushing when he was caught. Mary was grinning like a Cheshire cat and kept scooping more ice cream onto everyone's plates. She was the first to break the silence.

"Since it's such a lovely day and everything, why don't we go for a walk?"

"Brilliant idea Mary, I can leave the house now without fearing I'll be shot at, well at least, no more than usual." Said Sherlock.

So they left 221b and walked over to Regent's park. But, you see, this was all part of Mary's master plan and no sooner had they crossed the bridge did she feign a headache and pretend to head back to the house. She was, of course, never far behind them.

"So," said John, "what did you and Molly get up to while you were there?"

"Tedious games of scrabble and an endless array of appalling films about young men and women falling in love."

"I can see why you might find that appalling."

"It is the sheer unrealistic nature of the characters."

"Well, that's easy for you to say, you're a high functioning sociopath, things like love don't cloud your brilliant mind."

"What ever do you mean?"

"Well, you don't love...do you?"

"What do you take me for? I know you called me a machine once but I thought that was out of anger, I'm still human John."

"I just thought..."

"I've told you before not to make people into heroes, heroes don't exist."

Mary, by this point was skipping up and down very conspicuously behind a willow tree and her head was screaming 'Just kiss him already!' John on the other hand was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. He secretly wished Mary hadn't left them alone together. Sherlock was standing awfully close and he had a strange look in his eye.

"For example, I love the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of working out the problem and the mystery of a new case."

"But that's hardly the same thing."

"Well, technically it is, as far as the body is concerned the increased heart rate etcetera, its all the same chemical reactions, like for instance, right now your heart is racing and I can only imagine, well unless you are terrified, and I can't imagine why you would be afraid of me..."

"Can't imagine why? Jesus Sherlock you're the scariest person I know."

"What? How can you be scared of me?"

"Because I never know what you're thinking and I never know what you're going to say!"

"What"

"Well right now I haven't got a clue where you are going with this."

"And that scares you?"

"Yes! Well, a bit."

"Well I was merely going to say that I also love you."

John didn't get a chance to respond because Mary chose that moment to fall headfirst into the lake.


	11. Chapter 11

'How totally and utterly embarrassing' thought Mary as she waded to the bank. Sherlock and John had run to her aid, but she smiled and tried to remedy the situation.

"Oh there you are," she said "my headache's gone."

"Jesus Mary, are you ok?" said John, he was secretly relieved that she had interrupted the awkward conversation he had just been involved in.

'Bless him,' thought Mary, 'he looks so worried.'

"Yes I'm fine, I'm Australian remember, we're perfectly apt at swimming in waist deep water."

"But you're soaked, we should get you home."

"You two go ahead, I have something to do." said Sherlock, who promptly left them as John put his jacket around Mary.

As soon as he was out of earshot Mary started to skip about in excitement.

"Did you hear him John? He said he loved you! I was so excited I fell in the lake!"

"Are you sure you're ok? I think you might be concussed."

"Now don't be ridiculous, we both heard him, he loves you!"

"I still don't think he meant it in more that a, you're an invaluable companion, kind of way."

"I saw the way he was looking at you!"

"God, can you stop spying on us? It's more than a little bit creepy."

"Sorry, I'll be more careful from now on, try not to fall into anymore lakes."

John laughed, wondering how it was that this girl could be more interested in the relationship between him and Sherlock than either of them would ever be.

A while later they were sitting in the living room together, with tea of course, and a new set of dry clothes.

"Do you think he's gone to buy you flowers?" asked Mary.

John almost choked on his tea, "I don't think that's very likely."

"You never know"

"Trust me, I know."

Mary's phone buzzed, it was a text from Sherlock.

_Tell John to meet me at Scotland Yard SH_

"Could be a date"

"I doubt it," said John putting on his coat, "see you tonight."

"I'll be here, I'm always here."

"Cheer up; we might come back holding hands."

"That would be nice of you."

He left, and Mary went back to her lesson plans thinking about how boring her life was as soon as John and Sherlock weren't in it. At least she did think that until someone put a hand over her mouth and she was bundled into the back of a van.

She hit her face against something hard and she heard someone say her name as she tried to sit up.

"Mary is that you?"

"John?"

"Are you ok?"

"Fine, you?"

"Never better."

"What's going on?"

"Well it's probably not Mycroft, though I wouldn't put it past him."

"What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, Sherlock is expecting me to come to Scotland Yard, he'll come looking for us."

"How will he find us?"

"He's Sherlock."

"Right, stupid question."

The van stopped and they were ushered into a warehouse of some description. Once they had both been tied to chairs and un-blindfolded their captor greeted them.

It was Irene Adler.

"Hello John, Mary."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" said Mary.

"I'm Sherlock's girlfriend."


	12. Chapter 12

Mary was too shocked to speak.

"His what?" said John.

"Well close enough anyway and once he hears that I've kidnapped his blogger and his cleaning lady he'll come running."

"How did you even know he was alive?"

"That's easy, I knew he wasn't dead."

"What was that?" said Mary.

"I was the one driving the truck. I guess you could say I owed him one after he saved my life in Pakistan."

"Pakistan?!" yelled John, "When did he go to Pakistan?"

"Look that's hardly the point here..."

The sound of her phone cut her off.

Their conversation was brief, though she did say "even think of telling the police and I'll kill one of them, and you can work out which one it will be for yourself."

She hung up.

"He's on his way." She said.

Irene left the room but several of her well built henchmen stayed. John was as silent as the chair he was on.

"John, you know we can't take this at face value."

"Just shut up will you? Why did I ever listen to you!?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sherlock and I were just fine until you decided to meddle in our lives, now look where we are!"

"I'm sorry how is this my fault?"

He didn't reply, but he knew she was right. Mary was always right.

Sherlock's arrival prompted two of the more vicious henchmen to place an uncomforting hand on their prisoners' shoulders. Sherlock had forgotten to bring a gun, again.

"John, Mary, you alright?"

"Never better" said John, in the most contemptuous way possible for someone so lovely.

"Mary?"

"I'm fine thanks, how are you?"

'Good god' she thought, 'why do I always sound like such an idiot when I speak to him?'

"Where's..." Sherlock began.

"Here I am muffin."

Irene Adler had entered the room; her eyes were fixed on Sherlock's cheekbones.

"Miss me?" she asked.

"Not really" said John.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Release them" Sherlock said.

"That's hardly part of our bargain."

"What bargain?" asked John, incapable of staying out of the conversation.

"Sherlock in exchange for you two, though I must say I think I am getting the better end of the deal."

"You can't trade human beings!" John yelled.

"I'll think you'll find I can."

"Sherlock surely you can't..."

"Release them" he said again, he still hadn't looked at Irene and it was clearly bugging her since she had taken the trouble to replenish her makeup after his phone call.

"Not until you put these handcuffs on"

"Fine."

He held his hand out to her without shifting his gaze from his two roommates.

She made quick work of attaching his wrist to hers.

"Now," she said, "kiss me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your first kiss and its going to be with me and they're going to watch."

"That's not actually entirely true" said Mary.

"What?"

"Well you see he's already kissed me."

"He what?!"

"And let me tell you it was spectacular."

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk.

"I guess I'm already tainted" he said.

"Well who cares if it's his first kiss or not, he's mine now, and we'll have plenty of other firsts."

John looked a little repulsed and Irene took the opportunity to run her fingers through Sherlock's hair. That was her big mistake.

"Don't touch him." John said, and though it was quiet Mary felt that he had never sounded more deadly.

"What was that John?" she said, her hand resting on Sherlock's neck, "don't like other people touching your things?"

"I said don't touch him."

In less than a second John was up, he must have spent the past hour wriggling out of his bonds, thought Mary, as she cursed herself for not trying the same thing. He had his henchman down easily while Sherlock slipped his hand out of the handcuff (because, well, he's Sherlock), and hooked it to a nearby pipe. Mary bit her guard's hand and hit him in the face with the back of her head which impressively broke his nose.

The other two henchmen ran to Irene's rescue but Sherlock made quick work of them and both were unconscious while John undid Mary's bonds.

"Sorry Irene, I guess he likes us better than you." said Mary as they left the warehouse.

But John was talking a less light-hearted approach to the whole situation.

"Irene Adler knew you were alive and I didn't? The woman is a psychopath! How is it that you trusted her with your secret and not me?"

"Because John, Irene Adler is selfish, I knew that she wouldn't tell anyone because she wanted me all to herself, you two, on the other hand, wouldn't have been able to keep it to yourselves, you are too emotionally invested in me for that."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I knew you would be upset."

"What?"

"I knew how jealous you were of her John."

Mary thought John would protest, since that was his chief defence mechanism in these situations, but instead he said,

"You did?"

"Of course I did, I know everything."

"Well if you know everything then how come you haven't..."

John never finished his sentence, want to know why? Because Sherlock kissed him that's why!


	13. Chapter 13

"Sorry what were you saying?" asked Sherlock.

"I umm, I, what?" said John, who seemed to have caught Mary's inability to speak. Mary, by the way, looked a lot like a goldfish, if goldfish ever look euphoric.

"You were saying if I know everything why haven't I what?

"Umm, I was, I..."

"Because I assume you were going to say why haven't I noticed that you're in love with me, when clearly I have."

"Yes, well, I..."

"Honestly John, you must think I'm stupid, your obvious jealousy of Irene from the moment we met her, the way you casually asked if I was gay the first time we went out for dinner, the way you concurrently reject and perpetuate the rumour that we are together by hinting things like 'people will talk'..."

Sherlock didn't get to finish that time because John kissed him, and Mary suddenly felt very out-of-place. She therefore left them to it and jumped in a cab.

They didn't even notice she had left.

When she got home she burst into tears, she didn't even know why, it was ridiculous, the one thing she had been wanting to happen since she moved in had finally happened, so why was she crying? Probably because she had just realised that she would be spending the rest of her life alone. Well, that wasn't too bad, really, at least she had succeeded in getting Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to realise their true feelings for each other. Surely that wasn't something that happened everyday. Maybe they were just tears of joy, sure, that's all it was. She was just overwhelmed by everything that had happened that day.

When John and Sherlock came home they were holding hands. John looked a little sheepish. Mary was trying to read Lord of the Flies. Her face looked pretty abysmal, but she hoped they would put it down to the black eye.

Sherlock went straight to the kitchen where something he had been working on was coagulating in the microwave.

John sat down next to Mary.

"Mary, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said before, in the warehouse, it was wrong. If it wasn't for you we never would have..."

"Don't worry about it." she said without looking up from her book, really it was impossible to get anything done in this house without someone interrupting you.

"Are you ok?"

"Fine." she said, though it was one of those fines that really meant 'leave me alone I don't want to talk about it.'

But John was nothing if he wasn't concerned.

"Do you want me to get some ice or something for your eye? It looks pretty bad."

"Look I'm fine ok? I just want to read my book."

She left and went into her bedroom.

At eight o'clock, when Mary still hadn't emerged to cook them dinner, Sherlock and John thought perhaps they ought to see what the matter was. And by Sherlock and John I mean John. Sherlock was perfectly happy to keep making out on the sofa.

When he went into her room Mary was on the bed.

"What's wrong?" asked John as he closed the door behind him. Somehow he thought Sherlock might not be the best at handling this kind of situation.

"Nothing, I'm just so happy for you." she said, but her voice had more cracks in it than a ginger nut biscuit.

"Mary?"

"Look, I just feel like, now that you two are finally together, that I am going to be alone for the rest of my life."

"But you're not alone," said John, "You have us and we'll always be here."

'Us' thought Mary, 'oh no, not again.'

The End.


End file.
